The Boss and the Baby

by Leigh Michaels

  She ignored the sensation and hurried to fill the gap. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you how much Bailey loves her badge. She wears it all the time and sleeps with it under her pillow.”

  “When it wears out let me know.”

  “You’re kidding. Meditronics badges wear out sometimes?”

  Luke didn’t seem to be listening. His gaze slid from her face down the length of her body. “I know we changed the rules a while back to allow casual dress, but I hardly expected jeans and flannel shirts in the administrative offices.”

  “Sorry.” Molly knew she didn’t sound it. “I do try not to run all over the building dressed like this, but it’s a purely practical move. That warehouse must not have been dusted since the Roaring Twenties. Come in anytime and dig through a few boxes, and you’ll see what I mean. Just don’t expect me to wash your shirts afterward.” She saw light flare in his eyes, and too late wished she’d put a guard on her tongue.

  “Once,” he said quietly, “you seemed to want that job.”

  Molly’s breath caught in her throat, and she had to force a smile. “Well, we all have crazy ideas when we’re young, don’t we? You were right, Luke. You told me that no matter what I thought I couldn’t possibly love you, and—obviously—I didn’t.”

  “You were too young and inexperienced to know what love was. That’s why I warned you about repeating your mistakes. But you didn’t listen, did you, Molly? You plunged straight in anyway. Another man, and then a child—”

  She put her chin up a fraction. “If you’re implying that Bailey was a mistake, let me assure you that you’re dead wrong.” She pushed past him.

  “And her father?” Luke called after her.

  Molly didn’t turn around. “What about him?”

  “Was he a mistake?”

  The question hit her like a knife in the ribs. She clutched at her chest. The silence stretched like taffy.

  “Sorry,” Luke said. His voice was heavy. “It’s not my business.”

  “It certainly isn’t.” Molly didn’t look back, and she didn’t hesitate till she was safely around the next corner. Then she leaned against the wall and sucked in one deep breath after another.

  Was he a mistake? “You might say so,” Molly muttered. In fact, he’d been the biggest one of her lifetime.

  Molly’s small car looked pathetically plebeian next to the Bannisters’ glass and steel house, perched high atop the bluff overlooking Lake Superior. Molly had never visited the house, though she knew the neighborhood. And Alix had of course sent photographs throughout the two years it had taken to build and decorate the house—so many photographs, in fact, that Molly thought she could probably walk through the place blindfolded.

  The pictures hadn’t prepared her, though, for the sheer size of the soaring atrium foyer or the trim little blond maid who answered the door. “Mrs. Bannister is in her boudoir,” she said. “I’ll show you upstairs.”

  She led the way up a long curved fight of polished black marble steps, down a hallway hushed by the deepest carpet Molly had ever seen, to a closed door, and knocked. Inside, Megan, in an ivory lace peignoir, was taking dresses from a row of closets that lined one wall of the room. She looked distracted. “There’s a tangerine-orange thing here somewhere that would look wonderful on you. I bought it before I lightened my hair and—”

  “Megan,” Molly said firmly. “What is it?”

  For a moment, she thought her sister was teetering on the edge of telling her. Then Megan laughed, lightly and unconvincingly, and said, “Oh, you know, some times are better than others. And this is supposed to be one of the good ones.” She pulled open another door. “Oh, here it is.”

  Molly’s heart twisted with regret. How she wished they’d been the sort of sisters who could laugh over their triumphs, share their sorrows and be brutally frank with each other when necessary.

  As it was, she couldn’t force Megan to confide in her. And of course she had to admit that her older sister had never been her first choice of confidante, either.

  Megan kept up a steady stream of chatter while Molly showered, then helped her into the silky tangerine dress and stood back for an inspection. “That looks good,” she said “Better than it ever did on me, as a matter of fact. Let’s go downstairs, because the guests will be arriving soon. What are you going to wear to Mother and Daddy’s anniversary party?”

  “I haven’t had time to think.”

  “It’s only three weeks off. If you don’t want to go shopping, come and rummage through my closets. Of course, if you’d rather go shopping I can tell you all the best places.” She led the way down the great staircase and through the atrium and hesitated on the threshold of an enormous living room. She closed her eyes for an instant and took a deep breath, then forced a smile which Molly saw didn’t reach her eyes.

  “If you hate this so,” Molly said, “why do you do it?”

  Megan stared at her for an instant, wide-eyed, and then gave a little laugh. “Entertain, you mean? Oh, everybody’s nervous right before a party.”

  Still puzzled, Molly followed her sister into an enormous salon. One end of the room was entirely glass, a dozen huge panes fitted together into a curved wall that provided a stunning panoramic view of the lake far below. Near a white marble fireplace Rand Bannister stood by a black lacquered cart on which a portable bar had been set up, pouring Scotch from a heavy crystal decanter.

  Molly hadn’t seen him since the wedding, and she regarded him with interest. The years had been kind to Rand, she thought. The young man who had been a bit pompous for Molly’s taste seemed to have matured into dignity. His black hair was faintly touched with silver, but his dark good looks still formed a perfect foil for Megan’s delicate beauty.

  “Molly,” he said. “What a surprise to see you.”

  “Catherine canceled at the last moment,” Megan said. “Molly’s being a sweetheart and filling in.”

  “Sweet of her, indeed,” he agreed. He added a splash of soda to the glass and handed it to Megan. “Your usual, my dear. And what can I get for you, Molly?”

  She accepted a glass of white wine and strolled toward the windows. But the floor-to-ceiling glass was so clear that it seemed nonexistent, and she had a sudden sensation of standing on the edge of a cliff with nothing between her and the lake but a sheer five-hundred-foot drop. Vertigo made her head spin, and she quickly backed away from the windows.

  “An incredible view, isn’t it?” Rand asked. “I could stand next to that window for hours on end.”

  Before Molly had to find an answer, the butler spoke from almost directly behind her, announcing the first couple to arrive.

  Molly moved hastily aside, out of the doorway, just as a blond woman in brilliant white swept through. Her flawless skin looked as if she’d been gilded, and Molly wasted a moment speculating how many hours a day she had to spend under a sunlamp to achieve that effect before she let her gaze drift to the woman’s escort, standing half a step behind her with his hand resting gently at the small of her back.

  Molly’s eyes widened, and her heartbeat sped up.

  Megan could have warned me, Molly thought, and a second later told herself not to be so silly. Why should she need a warning, after all? Or expect one? Megan had known Luke Hudson forever. Why shouldn’t she invite him to dinner?

  Luke said, “No wonder you were so anxious to get out of the office today.” His gaze flicked over Molly from head to foot, and she saw a gleam in his eyes she thought might have been reluctant approval.

  She felt a little glow of warmth and told herself tartly that Luke’s evaluation was nothing to get excited about. He probably wasn’t admiring her, just the cut of Megan’s dress.

  “Melinda,” he said, “this is Molly Matthews.”

  The golden girl smiled and held out a hand. “Megan’s little sister? What a pleasant surprise to meet you here.”

  Was there the faintest emphasis on the last word, Molly wondered, or was she only imagining it bec
ause she felt so out of place at Megan’s party, among Megan’s friends?

  Melinda went on earnestly, “And may I tell you how much I’ve always liked that dress? Every time I’ve seen Megan wearing it, I’ve meant to tell her.”

  Well, that removes all doubt about her opinion of me, Molly thought. She manufactured a smile. “Megan has wonderful taste, doesn’t she?” In everything but her friends, she wanted to add.

  Melinda looked vaguely disappointed at the calm reaction, which made Molly feel a little better—though she was still wondering what had prompted the woman to attack. If it was that casually appraising look Luke had given her... Well, Melinda would have a full-time job if she set out to claw every woman Luke ever glanced at.

  The pair moved across the room. Melinda coolly offered her cheek for Rand to kiss, and Luke actually let go of the golden girl long enough to take both of Megan’s hands. Molly wondered if he saw the tension she’d noticed in Megan. Was that the slightest trace of a frown on his face as he looked at her?

  Another couple arrived a few minutes later, but the last of the guests—a married couple and the single man who was obviously Molly’s counterpart—were what she supposed was considered fashionably late. In her opinion, they were just plain rude to keep everyone waiting for more than half an hour.

  Of course, she admitted, her judgment was probably affected by the fact that until their arrival she’d felt more like a fifth wheel than an important cog in Megan’s dinner party. Or perhaps she was just a bit vexed at the evident disappointment felt by the single man when he realized there’d been a substitution in the guest list. She was almost relieved when Megan asked him to take the golden girl in to dinner, until she realized that left her sitting next to Luke.

  By the time they were all seated at Megan’s steel and glass dining table, Molly was already eager to call it an evening. She shook out her napkin and tried not to shudder at the sight of the first course.

  Luke, beside her, said under his breath, “You don’t need to glare at me. I’m not going to pursue the subject of Bailey and her father.”

  “That’s a relief,” Molly retorted. “But I wasn’t glaring at you. Though you needn’t take it as a compliment, on my list of unpleasant things, you aren’t anywhere near as low as oysters on the half shell.” She poked at the offending mollusks. “I’d rather read Green Eggs and Ham twenty-three times in a row than have to sit here and look at these.”

  “Relax, they won’t last long. What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “I thought Megan told you.”

  He nodded. “Catherine canceled, I know. And now that I’ve met the moon-faced gentleman sitting opposite us I think I can guess why. But—”

  “I’m sure he’s perfectly nice,” Molly said automatically. “So if you mean you’re just surprised that Megan was desperate enough to ask me to fill in—”

  He winced. “I wouldn’t have put it so crudely, Molly.”

  “It hardly matters, it’s the truth. And don’t ask me why she called, because I don’t know.” She hesitated, half-tempted to ask him what he thought of Megan’s mood tonight. But before she could, the butler returned to remove the crystal oyster plates and replace them with bowls of steaming clear broth, and she thought better of the question.

  Across the table, Melinda picked up her soup spoon and said, “Do you like being back in Duluth, Molly? It seems a strange choice. But then, I don’t suppose someone in your position had a lot of options after your divorce.”

  If it hadn’t been for the earlier remark about Megan’s dress, Molly would probably have ignored the condescension in Melinda’s voice. But she’d had just a little too much of the golden girl tonight, and before she could stop herself she’d let a faint note of sarcasm creep into her voice. “Now that you mention it, Melinda, crawling home and pleading for pity did seem the best of my options.”

  Megan hastily broke in and changed the subject, and Molly picked up her soup spoon, noting with detached interest that her fingertips trembled only slightly. She saw, from the corner of her eye, that Luke was frowning. But of course she shouldn’t be too surprised at that. She’d have to apologize to Megan, of course.

  “If you wouldn’t mind, Luke,” she said softly, “I’d appreciate it if you’d take Melinda out on the terrace after dinner—” and drop her in the lake “—and assure her that she can safely stop taking potshots because she doesn’t have a thing to fear from me.”

  “You know,” Luke said thoughtfully, “I’m not so sure I agree with you.”

  For a moment Molly wasn’t certain she’d heard him correctly, and her breath caught painfully in her throat. Could he mean that he truly thought Melinda had a reason to run scared of her? Of plain old Molly Matthews? If so, that could only mean that Luke really had been...intrigued by her, perhaps? Impressed? Attracted? Every nerve in her body tingled. She felt half-frightened, half-excited, as if without thought she’d embarked on a new and scary carnival ride and it was now too late to get off.

  “If cattiness was a world-class poker game,” he mused, “I’d say you beat her pair of insults with a very nicely played humiliation.”

  The electrical thrumming of her nerves died till only an occasional spark jerked through her body. How stupid could she be, assuming that he thought she was any real competition for the glamorous Melinda! Of course he didn’t.

  And why should you care what he thinks? she asked herself.

  She hardly noticed the rest of the dinner. Courses came and went, and the conversation shifted from art to politics to people Molly had never met. Eventually, however, the butler served chocolate mousse and started to pour coffee, and Molly tried to smother a sigh of relief. Just a little longer, she told herself, and she could make her escape.

  The maid who had greeted Molly at the door that afternoon came into the dining room and whispered something to the butler. He frowned and leaned over Luke’s shoulder, and Molly heard him murmur, “A telephone call for you, sir. It seems to be quite important.”

  Luke pushed his chair back. He was almost clumsy in his haste. His chest brushed Molly’s bare shoulder as he rose, sending a quiver of heat through her. “Excuse me, please.”

  The golden girl said, “What is it, Lucas? In the middle of a dinner party, I should think you—”

  Luke shook his head and followed the maid from the room. When he came back a couple of minutes later, he looked pale, and foreboding clutched at Molly’s heart.

  “It’s my father,” he said. “He’s had a relapse, and they’re taking him to the hospital. I’m sorry, Megan, but I’ll have to go.”

  “Good heavens, Luke,” Megan said, “don’t you dare apologize!” Her voice was low and almost shaky, and fondness stirred in Molly’s heart. Perhaps inside that fragile shell there was still a woman worth knowing, after all.

  “Someone will make sure Melinda gets home,” Rand said. “There’s no need for her to go now and miss out on chocolate mousse.”

  After all, the mousse is so much more important than Warren being ill, Molly thought. But of course Rand hadn’t meant it that way. He’d just been trying to reassure Luke.

  She felt half sick. What was it Warren had said this afternoon as she was saying goodbye? I’m a bit too tired today to be flinging boxes around, that was it. Had he been feeling ill and refused to admit it?

  And what, exactly, did “relapse” mean? She supposed it could be anything from a feeling of weakness to another stroke.

  And she wondered—and felt disloyal for even thinking about it, when Warren might be fighting for his life—where this would leave his beloved book project... and Molly herself.

  Her own words came back to her in a haunted echo. The book’s not my job, she’d told Luke. Warren is.

  So what would happen now?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MOLLY noticed that Melinda daintily spooned up every bit of her chocolate mousse, but the rest of them didn’t have much appetite, and the party broke up not long after Luke left.
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br />   Molly fought a losing battle with her conscience and finally offered Melinda a ride. But the golden girl flashed a smile at Rand and said, “Oh, can’t I have a run in your new Mercedes instead, Rand? And I’m sure Molly and Megan are longing to have a good chat—they seem to find so few chances to talk.”

  Molly bit her tongue till after they were gone. “No doubt she would have picked up some sort of infection from my car.... I’m really sorry I snapped at her over dinner, though.”

  Megan shrugged. “Don’t worry. I’ve done it myself.”

  Then why do you have her around? Molly wanted to ask.

  “Some women are just like that.” Megan’s voice was fiat. “Needing all the masculine attention in the room and with no time at all for other women.”

  Molly felt alarmed at the lifeless tone. “You’re exhausted. Can I help you up to bed? Maybe call the maid?”

  Megan shook her head. “Just sit with me a while, will you?”

  “Well, I can’t stay long. I have to go to work tomorrow.” Until she heard otherwise... No, that was defeatist thinking—assuming the worst. She’d just pretend Warren was vacationing for a few days, and she’d work like fury so she’d have something wonderful to show him when he got back.

  Unless Luke told her not to bother.

  “Just when I thought I could see a light at the end of the tunnel,” Molly mused, “this happens.”

  “Funny you should put it that way.” Megan let her head drop against the brocade chair. “I was thinking just about the same thing myself.”

  Molly sat very still, afraid that if she moved her sister might once more dance away from the subject.

  With a short and entirely humorless laugh, Megan said, “I’m pregnant.”

  Molly was stunned. There was no joy in her sister’s voice, no glow in her eyes, no wonder in her face. This is supposed to be one of the good times, she had said.